


Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens

by marked4war



Category: Crush Camboys AU
Genre: AU, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Fluff, M/M, Smut, mentions of drug use
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-19
Updated: 2021-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-28 15:20:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30141546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marked4war/pseuds/marked4war
Summary: What would have happened if War went to see Mark in Munich?'It hasn’t been long that they’ve been talking to each other – maybe a week at best – but War already feels an excitement deep in his gut when he thinks of him.'
Relationships: Mark (OC)/War (OC)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 36
Collections: MeChad Superior





	Du bist die Liebe meines Lebens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Grave](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grave/gifts).



> This is an AU of the canon Crush timeline and will explore a brief period of time where War is in Germany. It will be in three parts, this is the first and if you like it then don't forget to give kudos or leave a comment, it'd mean the world!
> 
> Find the rest of Crush here: 
> 
> Twitter [@crush_camboys](https://twitter.com/crush_camboys)  
> Tumblr [@crush-camboys](https://crush-camboys.tumblr.com/)

The club is almost dead. 

War looks around him, the dance floor emptied out, the bar taking care of a few stragglers and the strobe lights shimmer like stars across his vision. He’s had one too many, one glass tossed back after another until he feels the pleasant buzz of drunkenness seeping into his muscles. It’s soothing in a way that few things are, the edge taken off of his usual self–hatred.

“Phi, I can drive you home.” Dang says quietly to his left. 

His hair is tousled and his eyes dark and War waves him off in favour of picking up his phone where it lays discarded on the table. He hits the power button and the display lights up, too bright in this landscape of neon and jet, a picture of the city skyline greeting him in all of its urban glory. He loves it. Bangkok in all its filth and beauty is his home, his safety when everything else around him is dangerous.

A notification blinks at him and he feels his pulse spike with excitement. Without preamble he swipes on it, opening up Instagram to view his messages and sees Mark’s name there, bold and perfect. It hasn’t been long that they’ve been talking to each other – maybe a week at best – but War already feels an excitement deep in his gut when he thinks of him. Dang is studying his expression carefully but War doesn’t care. Let the joy shine through, it’s the only thing getting him through this damn week where everything has been one rejection after another.

**Mark: You don’t happen to know a good reasonably priced bar around here do you?**

The message was sent almost six hours ago and War bites his lip on a smile. He’s probably asleep already but on the off chance that he isn’t, War sends a message back.

**Sorry, boy’s night.**

He’s about to tuck the phone back into his pocket when it vibrates. He looks down at the screen at the same time Dang makes an indignant noise.

**Mark: It’s a little late for you isn’t it?**

War smirks and taps in a reply.

**There’s still enough time to talk to you, pretty boy.**

War tries to picture him as he is now. It’s late evening in Germany right now, the stars only just coming out to play over Munich. War likes to think of him in a hotel room, long limbs stretched out in a chair, watching the city from a balcony as he sips a beer. Maybe he’s listening to music, something with far less bass than the stuff playing in the club, or maybe he’s got someone with him, a pretty young thing with a honeyed smile and bright blue eyes.

They would be kind because Mark is kind and they would make Mark laugh, a sound War has yet to hear but imagines holds all of the exuberance of the smiles he’s seen in pictures and videos. Does he laugh at War? Does he even think about him outside of the few messages they send back and forth?

**You didn’t answer my question btw – where’s the best bar around here that isn’t a total tourist trap?**

Dang cranes over his shoulder, leaning on him to try and see his messages and War swats him away. The others are gone so they can’t bother him, too busy sleeping or fucking or smoking weed. Dang isn’t big on any of those things though, so he crawls curious as a rat back into War’s space despite the protests.

“Who’s that? Why are you texting in English?”

War ignores him and considers the question for a moment. He can think of a fair few places depending on what exactly Mark is looking for but the idea of him there, a stranger in a strange land is just so...lonely. Mark doesn’t speak the language, probably doesn’t know anyone there – War wishes he could reach across countries, his arms around Mark, his mouth at his ear, whispering the secret of his affection.

“None of your business, just go get the car, I’ll be out in a minute.”

“But phi–”

War cuts him off with a sharp look.

“Okay, sorry, I’ll just, I’ll see you outside.”

He stands up on shaking legs and makes his way towards the entrance but War doesn’t watch him go, just stares at his screen. A wonderful, terrible idea is starting to form in his head, the kernel of which has bloomed from the too late hours and too many lines snorted. He feels his skin buzz with electricity and promise as he starts to type.

**Tonight go to Bierblume, you’re on your own but the locals there are friendly and then tomorrow I’ll be there to take you out**

He calculates how fast he can get there. With the private jet it’ll take around 7 hours, much better than it would be commercial but that’s still a long way to travel for what amounts to a booty call. A pit of nervous dread opens up in War’s gut and he waits, the moments ticking by too slowly as he shoves his glass away and slides out of his seat.

If Mark is going to reply, he’s taking his time, perhaps mulling over the implication in the message. War feels a little sick with it, the thought that Mark might not want him there flashing through his mind and a much darker consideration that he’s laughing at War, all of this some great amusement on a cool night post–travel. He saunters towards the entrance on unsure feet and makes his way out into the open air.

It’s sticky with warmth and War feels oppressed by it. The club had been stuffy and out here is no better, the kind of heaviness to everything that feels like a blanket of sleep. He glances around himself, down the empty sidewalk and across the street to the bistro, the hotel. Everything looks picture perfect and rich, the scent of alcohol and city filth clinging to his nostrils as Dang hits the car horn and catches his attention.

“Phi, over here.”

The Aston Martin is sleek as ever where it perches at the curb. War hops into the passenger side without even so much as a glance to Dang and when his phone buzzes, he lets out a long, trembling breath, eyes closing on a smile as he leans back into the plush seat.

**You just don’t give up do you? Well, tell me when your flight gets in rich boy**

War places the phone in his pocket with a laugh.

“Take me to the airport. I have a date.”

* * *

Mark doesn’t know what he expects. In all honesty, he’s not even sure why he’s here.

It feels like a pipe dream, standing in the middle of an airport he’d not long arrived at himself, half awake at 3am waiting for a man he doesn’t really know. He’s still in the clothes he wore to the bar earlier, a pleasant buzz running through his veins as he glances through the windows at the runways. It’s dark, the only illumination coming from the few floodlights dotted around as he watches the people working the graveyard shift go about their business.

Everything about this feels ill–advised but there’s a bubble of excitement in his gut and it explodes into motion the minute he sees the expensive, chrome jet come in to land. It’s smaller than any of the other planes but there’s an undeniable importance to it. When he casts his eyes around he sees others staring, the prospect of some celebrity or billionaire setting them to chattering and Mark feels his cheeks burn. He of course knew War was rich but to see it in action is something else entirely.

He turns away from the window, not waiting to see him disembark and heads to the bathroom. He needs a second to breathe, a sudden sense of doubt falling over him like a shadow. When he’d first gotten his message it had taken him aback and he’d wanted to reject the proposal on principle. He just wanted a drink and a quick fuck, a moment to not think. This was so forward already. With Tutor it had taken weeks of them figuring themselves and each other out, working through what they wanted. With War, they haven’t even been eye to eye and already things feel like they’re moving in fast–forward.

Every message notification has his pulse rocketing, every awkward flirtation charming him into a false sense of security. He pushes the bathroom door open and makes his way to the sink. With shaking hands he turns on the faucet, gathering water in his cupped hands to splash over his face. It’s cool and refreshing and he welcomes it, looks up at himself in the mirror for a long time and traces the planes of his face with discernment.

He looks tired, perhaps a little pale but otherwise good, his t–shirt clings to him snugly and his jeans are the best he owns, tight enough that he almost feels a little breathless with them. It had been a conscious choice; if he has to wait around for War he might as well get something out of it, burn off some of the energy that comes with staying up all night. Sex is easy, it quiets everything and if they’re fucking they don’t have to talk.

“This is such a bad idea.” He says to his reflection. 

It says nothing back, just stares blankly, dark eyes burning. Mark takes a deep breath and washes his hands. There’s a paper towel dispenser and he takes two, discarding them in a trash can when he’s finished drying his hands before making his way back outside. It’s a short walk back to where he was and when he’s there he stops in his tracks, staring.

War hasn’t seen him yet. He’s too busy looking around for where Mark  _ might  _ be. Mark’s mouth goes dry as he takes him in. He’s in a suit, black pin stripes that clings perfectly tailored to the lines of his body. There’s no tie, just the top two buttons of a black shirt undone, expensive loafers tapping impatiently on the linoleum of the airport floor. Mark wants to pin him down with his mouth, to wipe away the smug tic of his lips upwards when his eyes finally land on Mark where he stands.

“Hello stranger.” He calls out in English.

It’s accented but oddly, in a way that Mark can’t quite place as simply Thai. He stays where he is, letting War come to him, his walk sure and slow as he pushes into Mark’s space, a hair too close to be casual. If Mark were a different man he might be intimidated but he smiles instead. It’s easy when he sees the nervous tremor of War’s fingers, reaching out and taking them into his own a little awkwardly.

“Guten Tag.” He says back trying to recall one of the few things he actually remembers in German.

War laughs and leans further into his space, giving his fingers a squeeze.

“How about from this point we speak in a tongue we both share.” He says in Thai.

Mark nods and without a second thought captures his mouth in a kiss. It’s a short thing, testing the waters without any real passion. War pulls back and his cheeks are coloured the faintest pink; it’s adorable and Mark wants to trace his tongue over the heat of it.

“So, are we just going to stand here? Because see, I had this thought that maybe we could go somewhere else and I could fuck you.” War whispers against his lips.

Mark feels amusement rise up inside of him and he forces it down, hands moving to War’s waist. He teases them under his suit jacket, brushing over the cotton of his shirt and feeling the muscles flex beneath. He’s seen pictures of them but he can’t wait for the real thing. He’s been thinking about that body underneath him for a while now and to have it now here with him, is enough to make him almost a little possessive.

“That right? You might have the wrong idea then phi because your pretty little ass,” Mark lets his hands slide down to squeeze War’s ass, punctuating the statement, “would look so perfect around my cock.”

The words make War’s breath catch and when Mark looks into his face he sees how dark his eyes have gone even as he opens his mouth to protest. He doesn’t get the chance though as Mark kisses him again, harder this time, an open–mouthed filthy affair that makes his cock twitch and his belly roil like the ocean.

War melts into it, his lips soft, tongue curling against Mark’s like it was made to be there. His hands slide over Mark’s chest in a way that’s almost indecent, the kind of touch that suggests he’d like them to slip lower, pop the button, undo the zipper, get Mark’s cock in his mouth and choke on it. That makes Mark smirk. He could do anything to War and he’d probably let him.

When they finally pull back, War pushes him in the direction of the exit. He’s overeager, eyes bright and hands twitching against fabric but Mark lets himself be guided easily.

“You didn’t bring any luggage. Planning on a one night stand, rich boy?”

Mark doesn’t want to let the insecurity show in his voice so he raises a sardonic eyebrow as War blinks in confusion.

“Oh I have an apartment not far from here. I’ll be staying there for a few days.” 

Mark lets out a low whistle.

“How far are we talking?” He says in a low voice, catching War’s hand in his own once more.

There’s a beat of silence between them as they pass by late night travellers, out in the cold air. Everything is so different here to how it is back home. He misses the simplicity of the river and his mother’s cooking and the sound of his grandmother shucking peas out on the porch. There’s nothing but glass and concrete here, everyone so far removed from his friends and family.

War seems unfazed though, leading him in a brisk walk. Mark watches him and sees the streetlights reflect in his eyes, the soft curl of his lip upwards when they pass a closed restaurant, the sweet way he turns to Mark in concern when he’s crossing the street, making sure Mark is keeping up. There are so many questions in Mark’s mind, so many things he wants to know and feel and learn. Who are you? He thinks. Who are you to make me want you?

* * *

The apartment is a thirty minute drive, so they take a taxi and then War is leading Mark into a building that looks new and fashionable. He’d bought it a few years ago, a purchase his father had berated him for but honestly War hadn’t cared. This city had been his home for so long that not having a place to land here felt wrong. The walls are smooth concrete, painted a pristine white and there’s an elevator at the end of the lobby, it’s shining steel doors reflecting them back at themselves. 

“I’m in the penthouse.” War says.

Marks rolls his eyes on a smile.

“Of course you are.”

War leans into his shoulder, pressing a lingering kiss to his neck.

On the ride over they’d talked, War tucked against Mark’s side, hand on his thigh. It wasn’t much but Mark had at least thought to ask him about what he was doing before he’d crash landed in his life tonight. War had wanted to make it sound grander than it was but a simple flash of that easy smile had cut him short and the truth had spilled out. The same as every night, a stream of bars and clubs and drinks and drugs and wanting Mark’s body so much that sex with anyone else had seemed gutwrenching.

Now War leans back against the side of the elevator and watches Mark. He feels like an animal, caged in his skin as he slides his suit jacket off of his shoulders, letting it hang over one arm as he begins to unbutton his shirt. Mark’s eyes track the movement, tongue darting out to wet his lips. The air between them crackles with a wave of electricity and War feels it make his hair stand on with each floor they pass.

“You’re so easy for me.” Mark says suddenly.

He yanks War in by his belt loops and nudges the tip of his nose under the line of War’s jaw, sniffing a kiss there. War feels his heart beat wildly in response. He turns his face towards Mark’s own, lips catching at his cheek. His skin is warm and tan, the kind of golden that makes War’s blood shiver with want. If they lived in a different time, Mark might be a God and War his disciple. As it is, he can still worship him, unbuttoning the rest of his shirt as Mark’s hands untuck it, slipping beneath the waistband of his pants, large fingers teasing over his hips.

“What the fuck does that mean?” War asks.

Mark kisses his chin, his bottom lip, suckling on it in a tease as he makes quick work of War’s belt.

“You flew to an entirely different continent just because you wanted me. Pretty little rich boy, so full of bravado but you still couldn’t resist my cock could you.”

War doesn’t mean to whimper but he does, cock already hard. Mark unbuttons his pants with one hand, sliding down the zipper. He palms at War’s clothed cock and when War meets his eyes, it’s like being completely unmoored, everything he’d been counting on suddenly so real that he can’t think or move or breathe.

The elevator dings, their floor finally. Mark doesn’t push him away though, just drags his lips against War’s lazily.

“Give me your key.” He whispers.

War swallows hard and does as he’s told, fishing it out of his pocket. When Mark has it in hand he hums to himself. Then, in one fluid movement he sweeps War up into his arms. War can’t help but let out a small, surprised laugh, his arms going about Mark’s neck as he adjusts. He can’t believe he’s being carried bridal style. There’s a certain indignance bubbling up in his stomach about that but he quashes it in favour of watching Mark open the door, switch the light on.

“What am I a princess now?”

Mark smirks and War’s heart thumps once, hard. That’s the kind of face a man could fall in love with.

“Nah, you’re just mine for tonight rich boy. Now tell me where the bedroom is.”

War points down a small corridor. The living space is large, clean, an almost perfect copy of his penthouse in Bangkok, minus the art. Here instead of painting of black and gold, there are vivid reds and blues, a neon symphony that catches Mark’s eye briefly as he walks War in the direction of the master suite.

“I didn’t take you for an art lover.”

“Actually I painted those.”

Mark looks at him a little wonderingly. There’s no door on the bedroom, just an open glass archway and they pass through it, Mark kicking off his shoes, pulling War’s own off and tossing them aside. He lays him down on the bed gently and steps away, getting the lay of the land.

It’s a large room, the decor impersonal but designer. War stretches out on the silk sheets and slides his shirt off, pants too. For the first moment tonight this all feels real and there’s a sick sense of adrenaline to it. He feels like there’s a storm inside of his chest, the city dark and beautiful beneath them as he watches Mark stalk around him like a predator.

The t–shirt has come off and War takes a moment to appreciate the sculpt of his abs, the way his pecs are tight but there’s still enough there for War to reach out and grab.

“Lube and condoms are in the drawer on the left. I personally want to cum inside of you but it’s your call hotshot.”

Mark laughs, a sound that bursts in the dark of the room. He slips his sweats down over his hips and for the first time War realises he’s not wearing any underwear. He gasps, belly tightening with arousal as he reaches up and brushes his fingers across the cockhead. Mark curses and catches his wrist harder than strictly necessary. It makes War feel starving.

“Baby, I’ve already told you: I’m going to fuck you until you’re screaming.”

He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a tube of lube. It’s half full but it’ll do. War closes his eyes and fights back the words he wants to say. He thinks of his father’s shame when War was first caught with a boy, he thinks of every pretty face he’s taken to bed without any real consideration beyond the immediacy of orgasm. It slots together into an awful puzzle and War doesn’t want to see it tonight, wants to hide away from that. War opens his eyes and looks up at the ceiling, feels Mark’s hands on his thighs, kneading at the skin there as he climbs onto the bed. It’s enough for War to look at him, brushing his hands away as he wriggles out of his boxer briefs.

“If you’re so sure of that, then show me what you’ve got.”

There’s a moment where time seems to still. War feels like he’s swimming through quicksand, watching Mark lean over him, smelling the pleasant waves of his cologne as his mouth trails over War’s chest. His hands are on War’s hips, strong and sure. It’s almost hard enough to bruise but War doesn’t care, he just wants it all.

He grabs Mark’s hair, pulling him into a deep kiss and their cocks slide together, a perfect drag that makes him moan deep in his throat. War’s head is swimming and he keeps kissing and kissing, letting Mark manhandle him back into the pillows, hiking War’s legs up awkwardly over his shoulders. It’s a little uncomfortable but War likes the stretch of it, the way it exposes him to the cool air. His cock twitches wet against his belly but it’s nothing compared to the hard line of Mark.

War licks his lips and stares outright and unashamed.

“You’re packing some heat there pretty boy.” He says for the sake of speaking.

There’s a nervousness inside of him that wonders at how this will feel, if Mark will even fit. He knows how this goes though, has done it to enough partners that at this point it’s instinctual, still experiencing it from the other side has a lump forming in his throat as the sound of the lube uncapping breaks the quiet. Mark pulls away from War’s mouth and coats his fingers generously, They’re long fingers, pads calloused from the kind of hard work War has never experienced.

He feels saliva pooling in the corners of his mouth, his pulse pounding loud as a drum and then the first finger brushes wetly over his hole. It sends a thrill through him, a shock like ice that has him moaning and breathless. Mark lets out a quiet laugh and leans down, kissing War’s neck. He bites down a little, a nibble that has War gasping fingers moving to grasp at Mark’s hair.

“Don’t tease, just get it over with.”

The words come out shaken. He feels a fire burning inside of him, belly taut, thighs clenching around Mark’s neck as his finger brushes once more over War’s hole, swirling wetly around. His other hand pinches War’s nipple between thumb and forefinger, mouth sucking a hickey right below his jaw.

His mouth feels like a brand and War can’t get enough of it, back arching as the first finger enters him. War lets out a near silent gasp, the stretch of Mark’s finger inside of him foreign. It’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced before, the way it slides into the first knuckle and then further, curling inside of him like a secret. It drives War insane, body writhing.

“M–Mark…”

Mark kisses over his jaw, up his cheek. 

“You want more, baby?” 

War can’t even get the words out so he nods. Head bobbing as Mark pushes another finger inside, more hurried this time. The room is on fire around them, everything dark and hot, the scent of sexy heavy in the air. War can’t think straight, he just needs Mark inside of him already. Shame be damned, pride means nothing here, not when he hasn’t slept in two days and the most beautiful man in the world is driving his fingers inside of him, scissoring him open as his legs start to tremble.

“N–Nong mo–more–ah–”

Mark laughs into his mouth, biting at his bottom lip as he curls his fingers and brushing over a spot that has War crying out loudly. His head tosses, lashes fluttering as he tears at Mark’s hair. It’s hard enough to make Mark hiss but he just keeps pushing, brushing over that spot again and again until War is keening.

It’s like he’s a livewire, electricity burning through him. He pulls Mark close until their chests are flush and he knows he’s nowhere near prepared enough, figures he’s going to need more stretching but he can’t wait, not when Mark is right here, not when the weight and heft of his cock is so close that his own twitches and drips, abdomen tight with the need to cum every time Mark’s fingers strum against his prostate.

“Oh g–god baby fuck me al–already – ah shit…”

Mark laughs.

“Say please.” He whispers.

It sets off a frustration in War and he won’t say it can’t. Those fingers brush against him again until his whole body quivers.

“Fuck you.” He gets out between gritted teeth.

The sheets slip beneath them and Mark thrusts his fingers in hard, fucking War with them as he screams.

“No baby, fuck you.” He laughs and War sobs.

Tears are in his eyes, mouth agape as he fucks himself down onto Mark’s fingers, begging loudly.

“Mark, oh Mark –M–Mark pl–ple–please…”

He feels empty when Mark pulls his fingers out. He never imagined craving being filled so much, the need for a cock inside of him so intense that he’s practically rutting against Mark. It’s animalistic, their bodies moving together with haste as Mark lubes up his cock, staring down at War like he wants to devour him. War thinks he would cross more than a continent for him at this moment. He would cross oceans of stars, swim through thousands of lifetimes just for the touch of his hand.

“Fuck phi, you’ve got to be careful.”

Mark lines himself up at War’s entrance, stomach gone concave, War’s thighs wrapped so tightly around his neck he’s almost choking him.

“When you beg that pretty, a boy might just fall in love with you.”

War’s heart leaps into his throat, time freezing as Mark begins to enter him, pressing forward and stretching War open so wide that he thinks he might die from it. It’s so much, the sheer heft of Mark, the thickness of his cock sliding inside of him like a key in a lock, a perfect fit that has them both groaning, Mark’s arms wrapping around War’s legs as he lets himself sink inside of him to the hilt.

War can smell the sweat on him, wishes he could taste him. It hurts but it’s the kind of pain that flashes red behind the eyelids, a pleasure unbidden and unbound as he falls apart, gasping and twitching until he adjusts.

“You’re so f–fucking big–”

Mark doesn’t say anything just looks him in the eyes and starts to move. It’s a slow rocking at first, War’s body cradling his cock like it’s been doing it forever. War has never wanted anyone so much, has never imagined finding heaven in someone else’s skin but here they are and he can’t think beyond the way each thrust brushes his prostate without even trying. It has his nails scraping over Mark’s thighs, mouth hanging open as he drools and cries out.

“Harder.” He moans.

He rolls his hips down onto Mark’s cock on instinct and Mark pumps his cock into him harder, faster. It’s so deep War wants to scream his throat bloody and raw. If he’d had any regrets about coming to Munich there are none now, just the raw need to fuck himself onto Mark’s cock, to feel it pounding into him with abandon. He hears Mark curse, feels his legs hiked higher, body pulled forward with the movement of it.

“Baby g–god…”

They move as one fluid entity. The world spins faster and faster and War feels lost in the motion of it, sliding himself relentlessly down onto Mark’s cock like it’s all he was made to do. He needs this, could die right now with the pressure building inside of him, the starburst of his orgasm so close. Mark keeps fucking him, the bed shaking, with the force of it. They’re falling apart and War looks into Mark’s eyes and sees eternity spelled out in them.

“Come on baby, cum for me…”

War’s orgasm hits like a tidal wave, the force of it enough to knock the air from his lungs as he arches off of the bed, thighs tightening around Mark’s neck enough to throttle him. He feels himself clench around Mark’s cock, eyes rolling back as a galaxy explodes like fireworks behind his eyelids and his body near convulses with ecstasy, cum spurting across their bellies. Distantly, like an echo he hears Mark groan something before he spills inside of War, filling up in a way that feels both alien and perfect.

When they both come down their breathing is laboured and they collapse into a tangle of limbs, Mark laughing breathlessly. He kisses War then, so sudden and sweet that War can’t help but smile into it.

“Hey.” Mark says.

“Hi.” War replies.

His voice is raspy but he doesn’t care, he just wants to lay here and sleep in Mark’s arms. Tomorrow they can travel through the city, visit War’s favourite Sunday market and eat  S pätzle and ride bikes around and Mark can trawl through the stacks at Hugendubel. They can kiss in cafés and fuck in this bed or in the kitchen, over and over until they’re wrung out and War is crying. Tonight though, he’s just content to be.

“I think I won our bet.” Mark says smugly.

War cups his face, kisses him.

“Ich glaube, ich bin dabei mich in dich zu verlieben."

Mark raises an eyebrow.

“What does that mean?”

War closes his eyes and snuggles into Mark’s chest.

“It means no one likes a smug asshole.”

**Author's Note:**

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